I Swear

31. BETH

Sitting across the table from District Attorney Graham Braddock, it was hard not to feel like I was in trouble. I kept making lists of all the reasons I shouldn’t be afraid:

1. Katherine’s dad was going to do all the talking.

2. Jillian and Katherine were here with me.

3. Macie didn’t know what we were doing. Yet.

When we got back to school and slid into third period, Macie didn’t bat an eye. She wasn’t really speaking to any of us anymore anyway. Krista was a different story. She kept turning around and staring, making faces, narrowing her eyes, passing notes to Macie, laughing. It was almost comical.

She kept at it all day, but it was easier to ignore her than I had expected it would be because I had Katherine and Jillian to walk to classes and eat with. We didn’t say much. We were just there for one another.

I couldn’t help but think that maybe if we’d all just been there for one another sooner, Leslie would still be alive.

And that was a thought I couldn’t get out of my head. It kept getting louder throughout the afternoon, until it was all I could hear. By the time I got to practice, the volume was turned up to eleven, and as I was opening the first handspring of my third tumbling pass into a full layout, I knew I was going to land out of bounds.

Again.

I’d been running this floor routine the entire practice. The momentum of a tumbling pass that you’ve done about a thousand times in the past three months is a very specific thing. Nailing a double back layout with a twist is something I’d never done in a competition before, and this week I hadn’t even done it in practice. I nailed the landing and stepped back, and before my heel had even landed a full foot past the bounding line, I could see Coach Stevens’s clipboard flying into the bleachers.

“That’s it!” His voice echoed across the gym. “Circle up!”

I felt like I had bricks tied to my ankles as I trudged across the gym to the huddle. I felt like I had as I’d climbed the stairs to the DA’s office this morning. It’s one thing to give a deposition. It’s another thing to sit in a room with a criminal prosecutor and a lawyer and hear the strategy for filing criminal charges against Macie Merrick.

As the other girls on the team ran in to Coach Stevens, he stood there, hands on his hips, silently shaking his head. He didn’t need to yell. He knew I knew. I jumped a couple of times on the spring floor, trying to shake it off. Then I slowly walked over to where he stood in the semicircle, dismissing the other girls.

“One week, team. I need your bodies here, but more importantly, I need your brains in the game. If your head isn’t here, you might as well keep your tricks in your trunk. It’s not enough to just do a routine—even a clean routine. I need your concentration and your focus. If you think Woodinville is going to show up to this meet and just hand over their four-year championship streak, you’ve got another thought coming.”

He looked down at the mat he was standing on, then back up with a smile. “When you guys bring your brains, you’re unbeatable. See you tomorrow.”

I didn’t even turn around to head to the locker room. I knew better. I knew he’d want a word with me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I knew it was coming.

But it didn’t.

When I didn’t hear Coach lay into me about the floor routine, I looked up and saw him climbing out of the bleachers where he’d retrieved his clipboard. Then he turned and started walking toward his office.

“Coach?” I asked. My voice seemed tiny in the empty gym.

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Yeah, Beth?”

“Do I need to . . . Should I . . .” What was I asking?

He turned around and crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me. “Should you what?” His voice was tired.

“I don’t know . . . I just . . .” It felt like I should be talking to him about something. I wasn’t sure it was gymnastics. “What should I do?” I asked.

“About what?” he asked.

I had no answer. I didn’t know where to start. I wasn’t sure what to do about anything. The doubt and lies and exhaustion of the past month came crashing onto me all at once. I felt like I was pinned to the floor by the silence. The air between us was thick with everything I couldn’t say. After a moment Coach shook his head.

“Go home, Beth. Or wherever it is that you go when you’re not here. Go there, and if you have a moment, think about what you’ve been doing here in practice all week. Think about how close you are, and then think about why you’re about to fumble the best floor routine you’ve ever put together at the meet next week.”

My eyes stung as he turned around and headed back toward his office.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wiping at my cheeks. I couldn’t believe he heard me, but he stopped in his tracks and turned around to face me. He stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, and then nodded slowly, his lips pursed together.

“Me too, Beth,” he said. “Me too.”

• • •

I left school and drove without thinking where I was going. I wound up parking across the street from Leslie’s house and staring at the garage door. I wondered what it must have been like for her that night. I wondered what it must be like for her family now.

As I sat there staring at her house, the garage door opened, and Mrs. Gatlin followed Mr. Gatlin into the front yard. She was holding a glass of white wine. He was holding a mallet and a For Sale sign, which he drove into the ground by the mailbox.

Before I realized what was happening, I had opened my car door and was walking across the street toward them in a daze.

“Beth?” Mrs. Gatlin stared at me with wide, glassy eyes.

The three of us stood there in silence, staring at one another.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Gatlin asked.

“I don’t know, exactly,” I said. “I guess, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Mr. Gatlin turned back toward the house and silently walked up the stairs to the front door. My cheeks burned at his silent dismissal. What am I doing here? I turned to leave.

“Beth?” Mrs. Gatlin’s voice stopped me, and I turned around.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I . . . I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate what you girls did this morning, going in to meet with Mr. Braddock. I know it wasn’t easy.”

I sighed and nodded at her.

“Where are you moving this time?” I asked, nodding at the sign in the yard.

“We’re headed to Florida.”

“Florida?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Time to go somewhere warm. I’ve had enough of this rain.”

“But . . . what about the criminal case?” I asked. “You’ll be back to testify, right?”

“Oh—” She paused and looked back at me. “We’ve decided not to pursue it,” she said, and leaned against the For Sale sign as if she hoped it would hold her up.

“What?” I couldn’t believe I had heard her. “But we just met with the DA this morning—”

“Mr. Gatlin has a project going on here,” she said. “It’s a big development and it has been delayed in permitting and environmental studies with the state for over three years. If we don’t get the permits approved now, the investors will pull out.”

I didn’t understand. Something was wrong here. “But . . . what does that have to do with . . .”

“Leslie?” she asked. When I was silent, she smiled at me like I was a little girl who just didn’t understand.

“Mr. Merrick came over this morning while you girls were meeting with the DA,” she explained. “He told Glen that if we refused to participate in the case, the DA wouldn’t be able to proceed, and that if we agreed not take this any further, he’d have our permits approved this afternoon.”

Anger swelled into my chest and burst out in a torrent of tears and words that I couldn’t control.

“But why wouldn’t you want this to go to court?” I gasped.

She looked around at the yard, as if she just couldn’t bear to see any more tears. She sighed deeply, like she was letting something go.

“Putting Macie Merrick on trial won’t make anything better.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “But letting her get away with this makes everything worse.”